Sozzled
by Figures
Summary: Sometimes, you find a person who would be great to have a mug of ale with.
1. Sozzled

Samantha snuck into the house quietly through an open window. Thanking the fact that she didn't have enough food daily to fill her figure. She tip-toed across the worn wooden floors to the drawer on the opposite wall, admiring the practically glowing appearance. She ran her callused fingers across the handle and pulled the first draw out.

She cautiously sorted through the piles of stained knickers. Who knew where they had been? Picking out the cleaner ones, she found a small packet.

A condom, she thought, figures.

Samantha picked through all the drawers, cupboards and closets looking for a fresh shirt, it seemed that all this family wore were pyjamas and pants, until she saw it.

A small glint of light, coming from what was undoubtedly the dirtiest pair of knickers she had ever seen. Samantha groaned as she unfolded them, unleashing more horrible stains and the source of the glinting. She snatched it up quickly, turning it over in her palm. A Jet stone. Not the most prized jewel, but sure to fetch her a hundred gold or so.

Samantha smiled greedily, clutching it tightly. She returned to the opened window and slipped through, heading straight to the pawnbroker's three doors down.

She celebrated her find by heading back to Industrial Bowerstone and drinking at her favourite pub. The bar tender raised his eyebrow when she flaunted her coin purse.

'What d'you steal today?' he asked.

Samantha gasped mockingly. 'Thomas! How dare you suggest I stole a gem and sold it?'

Thomas rolled his eyes. 'Don't care as long as ya don't get caught. Can't say I'd do well without yer drinkin' habit.'

'Shut up.' She waved to him dismissively, opening the first of her beers.

Samantha quietly drunk. No one in Industrial was too friendly when the ale flowed. Wasn't a day at the pub without a fight. Nothing too serious though, Mostly insult concerning mothers and chickens and maybe a punch or two. But today's crowd didn't look so menacing; A bunch of tough men, mercenaries maybe, all laughed together, sharing lewd jokes, a couple looked solemn over by the back, and a single man that was keeping his head down.

Samantha got bored of stewing in her own thoughts by her third beer, and decided to take a shot at the man. Who knew, maybe she'd make a friend, or a target to steal from. She noticed his torn clothes, caked with dirt and muck, and a hint of something she didn't want to recognise.

'Oi,' She called, startling him. She sat beside him. 'What's with the long face?'

He turned to stare at her, his grey eyes seemingly blank. She glared back.

'Tons of things.' He said, taking a sip of his ale.

Samantha raised her eyebrow. 'Like what?'

He gestured to the door. 'All this.'

'Man a many words, aren't ya?'

He grinned before realising what he was doing, and made his face blank again.

Samantha studied his face. It looked too clean for his clothes, now that she was close. And he looked familiar. She swore that she had seen that chin somewhere else.

She sighed heavily. 'Suit yerself.' And took another swig of her beer.

He fiddled with a gold piece in his hand, tapping it on the rough table, turning it over, rubbing the surface, as if it held a secret and he was trying to get it.

'What's yer name?'

It was Samantha's turn to be startled. 'What?'

'Your name.' he repeated, sipping again.

She answered curtly. He raised his eyebrow.

'Cassandra?'

She nodded folding her arms. She never gave out her real name, not since the last time she was caught.

He grinned. 'I wouldn't have picked that for you.'

'Oh really?' Samantha asked. 'What would you pick?'

He hummed, dropping the gold piece and stroking his chin. 'Not entirely sure. Hannah maybe. But not Cassandra.'

She smiled. 'Okay. Call me Hannah.'

'Uh.' He furrowed his brow. 'Alright?'

Samantha swigged her beer. 'What's yours?'

He reverted back into a blank look. 'Not important.'

Questions popped into her mind, demanding to be asked, but Samantha shook them away.

'Fine then.'

They drank as a large shout came over from the assumed mercenaries' table. Apparently someone's mother was a prostitute.

'Sounds like someone's had a bit too much.' He muttered into his nearly empty bottle.

Samantha chuckled, looking into his face again. His mouth was formed into a tight frown that just looked out of place on his clean-ish face.

'Tell me something,' he paused to take a sip of ale 'Why are you here?'

'Why do you ask?'

'Well, for one,' he held up a finger, 'You look like you came out of the market with those clothes. And two,' he held up another, 'your coin purse looks too full.'

She quickly wondered if she should just tell him. Even with the chin, he didn't look important.

'With my line of work, I have to blend into the crowd. They'll sniff you out like that,' she clicked for effect, 'If you strut into the plaza with only rags to yer name.'

'And?' he asked seemingly oblivious.

'I steal. Clothes, jewels, food. Anything.'

'Ah.'

He brought the mug of ale to his face, about to gulp the last drop when a large crack echoed through the pub.

'And that's my cue.' She sighed, jumping up from her seat. The man looked at her curiously.

'It's safer just to get out when the fighting's just started.' She explained over a drunken roar. 'You coming?'

He looked from his mug to the mercenaries' table and to her. He hummed and stood up.

'I have nothing better to do.'


	2. You must be New

Samantha purposely led the way out of the pub, with Chin-Up – That's what she decided to call the nameless, yet familiarly chinned lad – in tow. He hacked at the stale air, covering his mouth with his pinkie cocked.  
It was the usual End-of-the-Day bustle of Industrial Bowerstone. The men and women returning to their hovels after their fourteen hour shifts, the kids unnaturally quiet after their own hard day of labour. All of them had black, soot covered faces. Which was fairly ironic, seeing as most of these people had poured out of the soap factory near the markets.  
Sam frowned at the thought of her nice burglar clothes getting dirty, when Chin-Up stopped her, motioning at a blind beggar. Sam grinned, knowing what was next.

'Ma'm.' He said, turning to the beggar. He grasped at his belt, ready to give the old bird a pittance. And he grasped some more. He twisted again to meet the beggar's eyes, and his coin purse in her hand.  
She cackled, 'Watch yer back, young man!'  
He bristled, and pleaded with her. She could have half if she returned the bag.  
'Why should I? Should've watched yer back!' She cried. 'Try that on someone else. Git lost!'  
Sam suppressed the urge to laugh at Chin-Up, even though he'd just lost his money to a notoriously brash thief. He gawped a moment longer, before shooting up to join her again.  
'Mag the Hag' Sam grinned, 'She's like my mother, that one. The blind robbing others blind. You really must be new.'  
He scowled. Now there was a nasty look. 'That witch stole 140 coins.'  
Sam raised her eyebrow. 'Hell, I should have done that!'  
He cursed Mag the Hag under his breath. 'Let's go, shall we?'  
This is when Sam took another look at Chin-Up – the mysterious moneybags. She had let a fortune slip out of her hands, just like that! Sam inwardly scoffed and hoped that Mag got a really good prostitute for that price.  
It was only as they got to the Markets that she wondered about why he had such a fortune in the first place.


End file.
